Memorable treats you got climbing up front steps, trying not to trip in a mask you could barely see out off, on to porches when the light came on and every one hollered trick or treat.Remember them? Anyone trying to throw a dryer than dust popcorn ball carbon dated to many years BC, or a bruised heavily small apple was a place I made a mental note to avoid next year trick or treating.
The older ladies, sisters named Chamberlain on the corner of Court and Franklin Avenue that made fresh donuts I never forgot stand out in my head.
Those donuts that had just hopped out of the fryer, made from scratch. Sugared, handed to you on a platter to pick your favorite kind.Along with a mug of hot chocolate or apple cider were a pair of ladies that went all out. You had to cruise in to the living room of the grand Federal style home to partake of the goodies, but they made the effort.
The worse trick or treat event was a guy hammered, three sheets to the wind snot hanging drunk I believe the technical term of his condition. He had no candy, reeked like a brewery of stale rot gut something like sterno strained through bread. And he did not want us to leave without treats as it dawned on him slowly the goblins were on his front porch because it was Halloween.
So he leads us and we follow, about twelve of us marching back in to the kitchen.Handing us hamburger helper, tuna helper, boxes of cereal and cans of beans, cream style corn to go.
Kerploped in our sacks so we got something. A kid eight years old is not craving cream style corn or lima beans as a treat to eat. Or to trade the next day when you took inventory with your friends in daylight, without the mask on to see what did you actually get marauding the neighborhoods. Surveying your loot, the spoils of tramping all over town. Halloween, only snowed once I can remember and be safe. Watch out for the little goblins, witches, warlocks, monsters roaming your streets this sunday night. Maine, all the properties prices are so low you feel you got a deal, a treat. You did.